


Empty Table, Empty Stomach

by SocialBookWorm



Category: Sanders Sides (Web Series)
Genre: Angst, Gen, Patton is just sad, Patton may be overworking himself, and lonely, he just needs a hug, implied eating disorder, puns
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-06-01
Updated: 2018-06-01
Packaged: 2019-05-16 21:46:32
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,099
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/14819462
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/SocialBookWorm/pseuds/SocialBookWorm
Summary: They promised, over and over again, and no matter how many times they broke it, Patton never stopped hoping.





	Empty Table, Empty Stomach

Patton had been working on it for hours but it was finally done.  He took a step back from the table, brushing his hands off on his apron. He grinned, proud of the spread of food he had managed for the day. 

The chicken alone, Sticky Ginger Soy Glazed Chicken to be exact, a careful balance of tastes that he thought Logan would enjoy, had taken an hour. Marinated in brown sugar, soy sauce, garlic, ginger, some freshly cracked pepper, and cooking oil, the browned to perfection on the skillet with a patience that would have made sloths weep. Then marinated again, and topped with a green onions and sesame seeds on top of rice on each plate to appeal to Roman’s more visual aesthetic.

Patton had taken the time to arrange a little picture for each of them with the seeds, knowing the white against the darker orange tinted brown would be easily seen. His fingers stung from the burn he had gotten from the still hot chicken, but the smiles on the others’ faces would be worth it!

He had tracked down sides that he thought the others would love, starting with something that looked simple but wasn’t for Logan. Green Beans Two Ways hadn’t been easy for figure out but Patton had figured out the best combination of spices for the surprisingly complex dish. 

He had thrown together tarragon, rosemary, lemon zest, and orange zest, all freshly picked from his garden and chopped painstakingly throughout the day. The gremolata came next, seasoned with salt and pepper and set aside for when the beans were ready. And boy, the smell  _ grown _ on him by then!

He fired up his skillet, and cooked garlic in butter making sure to coat the whole pain as he did so. Tossing the beans had been an adventure! The oil from the butter had popped and gotten little burns on his hand but that was because he was on  _ fire _ with his cooking! But he had moved on quickly, not wanting to over cook the beans and have them been to stringy, adding in the chicken broth to boil them in.

Once the broth had evaporated he had added the spices, tossing until the fragrant scent of the rosemary had filled the room. Patton handled them carefully onto a plate, lining them up in a sprinkling over them the left over spices. He set the plate down closest to Logan’s spot on the table so that the logical man could reach them the easiest.

For Roman, Patton had made Potato Salad with Green Beans and Salsa Verde. Complex, colorful, tasty, and! It looked as good as the prince himself! Brownie points for being chalk full of vitamins the kiddo would need for his quests.

More seasoning that he needed to chop, combine and let sit. More frying and sauteing. Boiling the beans just enough that they were soft but not falling apart or mushy. Adding half the seasoning to the potatoes, half to the beans and then lining the blossoms up in the bowl so that Roman could admire their bright purple hues.

Getting the golden potatoes that he knew Roman adored costed more than Patton could probably afford, but he knew he would get paid back in ways that couldn’t be counted. They had taken a while to get the hang of compared to their normal potatoes, softer than he was used to but Patton had tried until the new technique had taken  _ root _ .

And finally for Virgil, simple, perfectly made Creamy Mashed Potatoes. Something simple, something familiar, something that wouldn’t overwhelm the anxious man with a variety of taste. Patton’s arms ached from making sure they would be as smooth and well mixed as possible so that it was to Virgil’s palette.

The cook let some of the stress drop from his shoulders, and let himself shuffle over and slump down into the chair he had set out for himself. The only thing left was to pull the cheesecake from the fridge and top it with the cherries and cherry glaze. But that could wait until the others had arrived and they had eaten as a family.

Patton propped his chin on his hand and waited. 

They had promised to make it this time.

They had promised. 

The clock behind him chimed, and Patton dozed off to the white noise of the house. A chime from his phone jolted him awake and Patton scrambled to pull it from this pocket. Light flooded the room and he blinked at how dark it had gotten. 

_ Hey, the night shift flaked out again and we need you to come in and cover for the cook _

Patton felt his heart sink at the text from his boss, and he glanced around the empty house. He desperately wanted to tell him no, that he had plans for the night, that his family was going to eat dinner together for once, that Patton wasn’t going to miss them again for the millionth time. But the silence of the other rooms taunted him and the cook choked back a sob.

He knew how this went. They others would come home, either to an empty table if Patton had time to clean up before leaving, or to a rapidly cooling meal. Either way, he’d get a flood of apology texts, and the one that would hurt the most would be each of them admitting that they had dinner while they were out but they were sure his cooking was great!! They were  _ suuuuuuper _ sorry!!

Patton would throw the food out the next morning and no one would question it. He’d ask for another chance, another dinner.

And another and another until maybe the smile on his face didn’t feel so stretched out, didn’t feel so fake. Until the growing empty ache in his chest and stomach went away.

The cook struggled down a surge of resentment and sent his boss an affirmative text.

He struggled to his feet, his own plate untouched and stared at the food for a long aching moment. He ran his hands down his ribs, tracing each ridge before turning his back and heading to work.

He’d eat later, after he’d come home to a dark house and his family asleep upstairs. He’d kick his shoes off his sore feet and pretend that he didn’t want to curl up then and there and never quite wake up. Virgil might be awake, getting a glass of water in the kitchen, and ask how his shift went.   
  
Patton will grin.

It went fine.

He was fine.


End file.
